


Happily Ever After

by Loxxlay



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Depression, Except Thanos, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD-like symptoms, Panic Attacks, Past Torture, Sloowly making it better, Suicidal Thoughts, also what is setting, no one dies, plot what is plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-04-27 20:39:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14433627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loxxlay/pseuds/Loxxlay
Summary: Thanos is dead, and the universe moves on. Nobody finds it easy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/gifts).



> Me: Let’s write something cute and sweet that ignores plot entirely and just starts with Thanos being dead  
> Me@Me: Yeah, sounds fun!  
> Me, 1 fic later: …… I said. Cute. And Sweet. I did not say angsty.  
> Me@Me: ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> (tldr; the title is a lie lol) 
> 
> **Warning: This fic has been colored by spoilers for the movie, along with minor spoilers in the actual story, so tread carefully.**

Loki gasped in a pained breath and stared at the frozen, shattered corpse in front of him.

He lay on the ground on his chest, the Casket of Ancient Winters clenched in both of his hands, its magic emptied. There were others, around him. Allies. Peppered along the Midgardian battlefield in shell-shocked relief.

To his left were Gamora and Nebula, crouched on the ground, murmuring quietly to each other, red staining their hands. To the right, Loki could see Thor panting, his hands gripped around his newly constructed hammer. Blood leaked freely down his shoulder, and he favored his left leg as he stood, staring ahead—but he was alive. He was alive and standing, and—

—and Thanos was dead.

Another gasp of air shot through his lungs, and Loki felt his breathing start to quicken and fail, his blood rioting at the lack of oxygen, his heart thumping desperately. He couldn’t breathe, his vision greyed, his body vibrated with hot chills that trembled down his spine, and he couldn’t _breathe_. Loki cried out and clenched his eyes shut, driving his forehead into the barren rock beneath him.

“Loki,” Thor’s voice came from far away.

A foreign hand tucked around his shoulder, and Loki jerked away, panicked. The hand retreated.

“Loki,” said Thor’s voice again, “can you hear me?”

By strength of will, Loki broke through the roaring fog in his ears and forced his eyes to open. His hands were still clenched around the Casket, and they were blue, like ice. Loki released its handles as if they were burning him. He choked on the air in his lungs, and gasped for more.

“Are you hurt? What should I do?” Thor’s voice, much closer. Thor kneeling at Loki’s side with one hand outstretched. His red cape sprawled along the ground, and if Loki followed the line of it, it led him right to—

Right to the remnants of Thanos. Frozen to ice. Shattered to pieces.

He wanted to scream. “This isn’t right,” he choked between panicked breaths. “This isn’t—right.”

How could he explain the _wrongness_ he felt—to know that they’d won, to see the evidence mere meters away from him. To have Thor, kneeling next to him, in one piece. To be breathing brokenly, to be laying here conscious, to be _alive_.

Thor’s hand at last curled around Loki’s shoulder, and Loki didn’t flinch away this time. “What isn’t right?” Thor asked. “What’s wrong?”

At once, the panic transformed into a lump in his throat and a stinging in his eyes. Loki swallowed a sob that tingled all the way down his throat, and he pressed his lips together to keep the feelings, the white hot blare of emotions, bottled inside him. Tears leaked down his cheeks at the pressure.

He looked at Thor, meeting his brother’s single-eyed gaze and seeing the deep, rich blue he had never expected to see again.

“I was never supposed to live through this,” Loki gasped.

Thor’s expression broke. He dragged Loki by the arms and locked him into a steel embrace that grew tighter with every passing second, until Thor was squeezing his lungs so hard that dry sobs poured out of Loki’s throat. Loki clung to Thor, tucked his nose into Thor’s shoulder, and stared at his hands, which were no longer blue.

In his wildest dreams, Loki had never expected either of them to live. Especially not himself.

The universe expanded with a frightening amount of options, of avenues for him to pursue, of feelings for him to experience—and he was afraid, he was terrified, because now that it was here, at his fingertips, he feared to lose all of it. It was water in the desert that he couldn’t help but crave.

Loki clenched his eyes shut and let himself cry.

…

For hours, Loki slept.

He slept as if sleep had denied him all his life, as if he’d wandered the world, wide-eyed and waking at all times, watching for untold dangers at every corner, waiting, waiting, waiting for the Final Threat to ravage everything he treasured and loved.

He slept as if there was no more Final Threat, as if the entire universe had fallen to a peace that would last for centuries to come.

He slept under Thor’s muscled arm, face pressed to Thor’s chest, where he breathed in the earthy scent of rain, where he listened to his brother’s heartbeat like a lullaby. Thor’s heart thumped away, slow and gentle and never breaking its rhythm, and Loki thought, in sleep, that his own heart matched.

He slept as if they were children again.

And when he woke, it wasn’t misery. It was a fluttering of eyelashes and silky sheets and early morning rays of sunlight. He breathed, deep and even. For a moment, he lay there, unwilling to move and break the hum of silence. There was no urgency, nowhere to run, nothing to do, and he could lay here for hours more if he wanted.

Thor sniffled.

Surprised that Thor was awake, Loki shifted out from under Thor’s arm to get a good look at his brother.

Thor’s eye was glassy and strained and rimmed with red. The sunlight illuminated streaks of wet down Thor’s cheek, where tears clung stubbornly to his chin. Chills ran through Loki’s chest as he wondered what could possibly have made his brother, the God of Thunder, cry on so peaceful a morning as this.

“Are you alright?” he asked, quiet and faint.

“Yes,” Thor said, but his voice was raw and shaking, and his arm shifted, as he scrubbed his face clean of the tear trails. “Yes, I’m fine. Go back to sleep.” His arm opened, encouraging Loki closer, but Loki remained where he was, frowning.

“I’m well-rested,” he said. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Thor recoiled. He rolled onto his back, hiding his face within his elbow. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

Loki sat up and rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Thor.”

Thor didn’t move.

“Brother,” Loki breathed, stern, as adrenaline woke in his veins. “Please. You’re worrying me.”

That, it seemed, was what did it. Thor’s fists clenched, the muscles in his arms straining, and his body shook with one single tremor. “I shouldn’t tell you. I can’t—hurt you—”

“Just tell me.” Loki stroked his thumb in a circle around Thor’s shoulder. “I can handle it.”

For a while, the silence lasted. And then,

“What you said,” Thor murmured at last with the bare minimum of his voice. “That you weren’t supposed to—” He cut off, and his neck bobbed with a visible swallow. “—to make it through this. Alive.”

Panic renewed in Loki’s chest, biting at his lungs and squirming through his shoulders. He closed his eyes and exhaled.

“I—thought you wouldn’t either,” Thor went on, his fists trembling. “I thought—I thought I’d lose you. Again. I thought . . .”

Loki breathed in, bottling the rising sense of unease, and—he shouldn’t be here, neither of them should be here, and maybe they’d been wrong, maybe Thanos wasn’t dead, maybe they were all going to die in the next heartbeat—he focused on the weightlessness of the mattress beneath him, the birds chirping loudly outside.

This was real.

They were alive.

He nudged Thor’s fist, the one near his face, until it opened and they could join palms. “You didn’t lose me,” Loki said. “I’m right here. I’m fine. We’re both fine.” As he spoke, he guided Thor’s arm away from his face, revealing the clenched eye and set jaw beneath. “Thor, look at me.”

Reluctantly, Thor’s eye opened and stared at him, a new tear leaking from the corner.

“See?” Loki tried to smile. It wouldn’t come. There were too many horrors haunting him, eradicated from the universe, perhaps, but still too close, too recent.

At the sight of his failed smile, Thor sat up and pressed them close, shoulder-to-shoulder. “Do you think we’ll ever be happy again?”

“I don’t know,” Loki said honestly.

It was one thing to live and to be grateful for it. To sleep well. To cherish his brother’s presence. It was quite another thing to not want to die, and he didn’t know if he remembered what it was like, wanting to live, finding this goodness to be worth all the pain it had cost.

Thor was used to such wanting, and he would regain it quickly, Loki knew.

But for Loki, it felt wrong, even still. As if he didn’t belong in this goodness, as if he was a ghost forced to breathe and eat and drink and sleep in a world where everyone else was alive. He didn’t know what he wanted, and he didn’t know if he wanted anything at all.

“Will you promise me something?” Thor asked, quiet.

Loki didn’t answer. He wouldn’t promise Thor something he couldn’t keep.

After a time, Thor sighed. “Will you promise me that you’re here to stay?”

Swallowing, Loki rested his head on his brother’s shoulder. “I promise I’ll try,” he said.

It would have to be enough for now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Gamora have a chat, because I say so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: This fic has evolved into Full Spoilers for the movie, so read at your own risk.**
> 
>  
> 
> I didn't realize when I wrote the first chapter that Loki would be full-on _choked out_ (wtfwtfwtf) so... It is now is a thing that happened at some point before this story started because the PTSD-opportunities are too good to pass up. 
> 
> Also, this fic is working under the assumption that Gamora and Nebula were still Thanos's assassins and had a hand in torturing Loki Post-Thor/Pre-Avengers, because it's my headcanon, and in this fic, I do what I want.... hoping that what I want is also what [Veliseraptor](veliseraptor.tumblr.com) will want too. :D <3 (Go follow her, she is the best, and I dedicate this fic to her for encouraging me with all these fix-its. :D)
> 
> Anyway enjoy :)

A few nights in, the nightmares started.

Loki awoke, clawing against the bedsheets, gasping, choking for air. At first, it would wake Thor. Sometimes Thor would even merge with the shadows of dream, and his brother’s reaching hands curling around Loki’s shoulders, became those of the Chitauri or the Black Order or Thanos himself, lifting him into the air and squeezing the veins in his neck.

It took minutes to unwind the threads of his nightmares from reality. It took hours then to come down from the rush of adrenaline.

He would sit, vibrating, huddled against the bed frame, arms locked around his legs, with Thor’s hand rubbing circles into his shoulder. Sometimes tears burned through the fuzzy edges of his vision and leaked down his cheeks, and Thor would murmur platitudes and reassurances, even not fully knowing what the nightmares entailed.

When the cold shaking stopped, when he could breathe normally again, Loki would be so exhausted that there would be nothing else to do other than to lie down and go back to sleep.

Thor sat with him, through every spell of anxiety, and he brought Loki cooked meals during the few coherent waking hours.

Loki wondered when his brother found time to sleep.

Days went on, passing by in a blur of fatigue and nightmare, but slowly, ever slowly, Thor became accustomed to the sounds Loki made in dream and stopped waking up to them.

Gasping, choking, clawing himself free, Loki would find his brother sleeping beside him, rumbling with snores. A flush of rage would surge through Loki’s face, burning in his throat— _ he doesn’t care anymore, he’s stopped helping you, he’s stopped loving you, even after only a few days _ —which Loki understood was unfair. Logically, he knew all he had to do was shake Thor’s shoulder hard enough, and he would wake and wrap Loki in his arms until the adrenaline passed.

But that took a different kind of trust, a different kind of vulnerability. Loki didn’t think he was ready for it.

Instead, he stared long hours at the ceiling in the dark and flinched at shadows and wished he had the courage to sleep alone.

...

One such night, Loki finally managed to leave their quarters and go for a walk.

Unlike much of Midgard, Wakanda’s city lights dimmed at night, unveiling a panoramic view of the realm’s one vibrant moon and twinkling stars. Loki stared at the dark, rich blue of the cloudless sky as he walked. The starlight was bright enough to outline the tall mountains in the distance, and the height of the building allowed an overview of rainforest trees stretching for miles and miles in the distance.

If Loki quieted his thoughts enough, he could pretend he was on one of the palace balconies of Asgard itself, and under the sky of multiple moons and artful streaks of nebulous gas. 

When he reached the edge of the balcony, he curled his fingers around the cold metal and embraced the burning freeze that spread across his fingertips. Looking down from such a height gave him vertigo, and he embraced that feeling, too—his body swaying from side to side, his vision swirling.

No matter how much the world spun nor how much his fingers stiffened with cold, he couldn’t believe that he was alive.

He couldn’t believe that Thanos was dead.

Footsteps padded behind him, and Loki jerked around, nearly lurching over in his dizziness. His one-handed grip on the railing steadied him enough to catch sight of Gamora herself. Daughter of Thanos. One of the shadows in his nightmares.

By instinct, he released his hold on the railing and stepped away from the edge. Calm rolled over his features, masking anything beneath.

“Sorry,” Gamora said, her eyes shifting between him and the railing. “I didn’t think anyone would be out here.”

With that, she headed back towards the balcony doors.

Loki hesitated. He had never known her as more than an enemy, but a part of him knew that she had been a victim as well. Loki knew that he himself had succumbed plenty of his own morality to Thanos’s whims, had made plenty of victims of his own on behalf of the Titan when he’d tried to conquer Midgard all those years ago. 

More than anything, however—he didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight.

“Wait,” he called. His vocal cords grated at the volume.

She paused, but didn’t turn.

“There’s . . . plenty of space here,” Loki said. “You don’t have to leave.”

Careful, she looked at him over her shoulder, aside a cascading gradient of black and violet hair. Her eyes were hard, her face unreadable. “Are you sure?”

Loki considered his options.

He could return to his rooms and lie silent next to Thor for the hours it took for him to sleep again. He could stay here alone and struggle to convince himself that falling from the edge of the balcony wouldn’t be worth it. Or, he could sit in Gamora’s company and maybe, just maybe, try to work out one of the knots in his long line of emotional scars.

“I’m sure,” he said.

…

They ended up sitting on two opposite sides of a bench together.

Gamora looked to be enjoying the night sky, but every so often, he caught her eyes darting a little too slowly away from him, and so he knew she wasn’t as calm and relaxed as she seemed. Still, he was as grateful as he could be for her company. At least, she wasn’t a stranger—even better (or worse), she wasn’t a talkative one. Not with him anyway.

A cool breeze drifted between them, stirring their hair and loose clothes. Loki folded his arms as goosebumps raised along his skin beneath the silky fabric. The loneliness pressed in on him, and he thought—what could he possibly lose by talking to her?

“I’m glad,” he said, “that you got out.”

Her head jerked toward him, her eyes narrowed.

Loki thought he recognized the blatant distrust there, distrust for any kind words or sympathy ( _ pity _ ). He modified his tone. “Perhaps if you’d stayed on his side, we wouldn’t have managed to defeat him. You and Nebula were two of his most merciless warriors, after all.”

Strangely, Gamora’s face softened, as if he merely teased, and tension rolled out of her shoulders. “I’m glad you got out, too,” she said. “And that he’s gone. That he can’t torment anyone any longer.”

Despite her words, Loki saw the line of her brow tense and her clenched jaw strain with—something. Sadness maybe. Or rather a raw conflicting relief that couldn’t be described in words.

He let out a breath. “How is your sister?”

“Fine,” she said, too quickly. “And your brother?”

“Well, unlike us, he’s sleeping through the night,” Loki said with a bitter smile. “That must mean something.”

She nodded in a display of both amused and sincere agreement.

Loki couldn’t think of more to say without crossing a line, and she didn’t make a move to continue the conversation either. The air bristled with an awkward lack of sound, until Loki settled into it, leaning his back against rigid bars of the railing behind the bench and trying not to think of the empty air beyond.

Shadows flickered across the balcony’s stone floor. He found himself throwing a quick look over his shoulder every so often to ensure that no one was climbing the walls of the tower and that no alien ship hovered in the sky.

It was like breathing now, to check. It didn’t bother him as it used to, but a part of him longed for freedom from the fear. In the heart of Wakanda, in the aftermath of Thanos’s death, there should have been nothing to fear.

When would his lungs, his heartbeat, his shaking hands accept it?

Out of nowhere, Gamora inhaled a sharp breath. “I don’t know how to help her,” she murmured. “Nebula. She’s not fine.”

Startled unease crept down Loki’s spine. He stilled and listened.

Gamora’s voice strained as she spoke. “She was so obsessed with it—with killing him,” she said in a rush. “And I don’t—she had every right to be obsessed—I would never blame her. But now that he’s . . . gone . . . I don’t think she knows what to do.” Her arms folded around her chest, and she rocked forward, lips thinning. “She won’t talk to me, no matter what I do.”

It struck him, that last part. It was something Thor wanted from him as well. Always asking  _ what happened _ ,  _ what’s wrong _ , always pressing for more and more details that Loki was unwilling to give, details that would make him crack, and—

Again, Loki considered the railing and the miles-deep drop below. He thought of what Thor would feel, seeing his body crushed, broken, and decomposing, on the ground. Whether Thor would regret asking questions. Whether Thor would ever recover. 

He shook the image from his head, refocused on Gamora, and saw tears gathering at her eyelashes, unspilled but brimming. “You can’t make her talk to you,” Loki said, his tone a little harsh. “You can’t make her do anything.”

Gamora threw him a glare. “I know that.”

“Maybe you don’t know,” he shot back. “From what I gathered, you weren’t the model sister. Have you ever considered that she is afraid to trust you?”

Blinking, Gamora quieted. Her glare faded.

It fueled his pumping heart, hot rage fuming through his veins, adrenaline spiking. “You have friends,” he hissed. “Comrades. And all she has is you. You, who let her be treated so horribly for so many years. Perhaps instead of demanding that she talk to you, you should consider asking her what she wants.”

For a long moment, Gamora stared at him. Trapped in her gaze, Loki felt the memories of Thanos squeezing his throat, straining his lungs, bruising his neck surround him on all sides, drowning him. Then, with a flicker of guilt in her eyes, Gamora broke the line of their gaze, and Loki could breathe again. 

“Alright,” she said coolly. “Then what is it  _ you _ want?”

Loki blinked. “What?”

“I’m not a fool. You have a brother sleeping back in your room who loves you and would do anything for you, and yet you asked _ me _ to stay out here with you tonight,” she said. She didn't need to remind him that she had tortured screams out of him once; it was implied. Instead, her eyes fixed on her hands in her lap, where she mindlessly turned her rings in circles around her fingers. “So why? What do you expect from me?”

He first wanted to insist to the contrary. She’d been convenient. Company already awake and on a night where living might not have been ideal. Desperate and starved for attention, he had taken what he could get. 

And yet . . .

“You’re not perfect,” Loki said. “You’ve made mistakes.”

She frowned. “Are you always this much of an ass?”

With a sigh, Loki forced himself to soften his voice. “I’m only saying that it helps.” His voice caught in his throat, and he swallowed, flexing tension out of his hands. “With you,” he forced himself to say, “I don’t have to pretend. Not like I do around Thor.” Around Thor, he had to put on a perfect show at all times. He had to act as if he were recovering well. As if one day sleep would come easier. He hesitated. “Maybe your sister feels she does have to pretend around you.”

At last, Gamora’s expression smoothed of the hostility. “Then what do you think I should do?”

“I don’t know,” Loki said. 

She hummed in acknowledgment, and the two of them devolved into silence once more.

Loki played with the hem of his sleeve. His eyelids were drooping, and the lure of sleep tempted him to return to his rooms and rest next to the warm comfort of his brother. Instead, for a while longer, he thought of what he wanted from Thor, and finally it came to him.

“Don’t try to make her feel better,” he said, without looking at Gamora. “If you try to fix her, then you’re saying she’s broken. Let her feel how she feels.”

Expression thoughtful, Gamora nodded.

A few seconds passed.

Then she cleared her throat. “I  _ am _ sorry, you know,” she said. “I know there wasn’t much of a choice, but . . .” She blew out a breath of air that shuddered all the way through her shoulders. “I wish I hadn’t hurt you. Or her. Somehow.”

Loki’s walls threatened to slide back around his heart, boxing him in, because she  _ hadn’t  _ hurt him, he  _ wasn’t  _ so vulnerable and wretched as that, and certainly not in need of an apology. But he was trying now—trying so very hard—not to shut himself down anymore. For Thor’s sake if no one else’s.

With a steel will, he forced the trembling in his hands to stop and for his heart to settle. “You had to survive,” he said stiffly. 

“I know,” Gamora said. “I’m still sorry.”

At that moment, the balcony door slammed open. Both of them started and whirled around to face the intruder.

It was Thor, arms folded around a robe he wore over his bed attire. His eyepatch was off, and the sight of the empty chasm where his right eye should have been was both nauseating and mesmerizing. Loki caught himself squinting to check for any infection or other signs of stunted healing; he relaxed at finding none.

As Thor got closer, his posture slumped. “Loki,” Thor said, “why didn’t you wake me? Are you alright?” His single eye brushed over Gamora and narrowed with a strange frown. “Why are you out here with—” He cut off, and Loki couldn’t tell if it was out of dislike or a failure to remember her name.

“I’m fine, Thor,” he said and gave Gamora a courteous nod as he stood to join his brother. “We can go back inside.”

He barely made it one step towards the door when Thor hauled him face-first into his chest. Loki stiffened, bracing himself for some sort of attack, but when Thor simply tucked arms around his torso and squeezed, Loki recognized it for a hug. He went slack, pressing his face to Thor’s shoulder and closing his eyes.

It was moments like this when he thought pretending wasn’t so difficult. “I’m fine, Thor,” he said. “Really.”

Thor lifted one of his hands to thread fingers through Loki’s black strands of hair. “Wake me next time. Alright?”

Loki hummed, not in agreement but in enough acknowledgment for Thor not to press the subject.

When Thor finally released him, Loki gave a parting look to Gamora. “Good luck with your sister.”

With a flick of her eyes, she gestured pointedly towards Thor, and Loki took it to mean,  _ good luck with your brother _ . 

Loki bit back an amused smile—a smile that surged a little more easily than it had before. He let Thor lead him back to their rooms and hoped that maybe everything else would get easier, too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki starts to see that Thor might have a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was really difficult to write for some unknown reason and i hope it's okay anyway T_T
> 
> Also I haven't forgotten [A Moment of Peace](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14018976/chapters/32285442). There's just too much I need to do in the last chapter, so I've been procrastinating lol. But I'll start working on it soon.

Loki awoke to the sizzling of a frying pan and a smell that blared through his nostrils, bright and pointed and crisp. From the window, the sun spilled in a deformed triangle on the bed, where it had been creeping steadily onto his face. For once, it was early morning and not the dead of night.

Sighing, Loki sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

A couple days had passed since he’d met with Gamora, and the nightmares had lessened if only a little. He was waking more often, but leaving the bed less, and Thor was becoming more and more insufferable.

Loki tried to peer into the hallway, but the bedroom door had been shut.

A jolt of panic shot down his spine. He sighed again.

Thor was always doing that, despite the fact that Loki asked him not to. One time, he’d tried to press the issue, but he’d been unable to provide his brother with a satisfactory reason. He didn’t want to explain how a closed door woke his deepest fears—that he was trapped, that the four walls were a cell.

That he would one day open his eyes and find Thanos and his army of Chitauri alive, strapping him down against hot coals that burned through his flesh to the bone. That this brief interlude of calm was only a fantasy his mind had conjured only to endure the pain.

Loki climbed to his feet and swung open the door—but quietly, so Thor would not hear his distress and ask questions.

After he calmed, Loki heard voices coming from the kitchen, and one of them was Thor’s. The other, he identified as the Valkyrie after a few passing lines of their conversation. The smell of their cooking wafted stronger into the bedroom with the door open, enticing his empty stomach.

Curious, Loki crept through the hall to the kitchen doorway and watched them from the shadows, half-hidden and silent. Thor was flipping over slices of bacon, at least until the Valkyrie poked him in the ribs, sending one flying onto the countertop. They both burst into laughter, Thor mock-shoving her away, and the Valkyrie flinging the strip of bacon at his face.

The sight carved a hole in Loki’s chest. He stood, locked in place, unable to move forward, unable to move back. Unable to look away.

He tried to focus on the three plates set by the stove, slices of toast and scrambled eggs on all of them, absent only of bacon. And yet—his eyes drifted to the table, where only two places were set, two chairs pulled out.

It wasn’t surprising. Loki had slept so much the past couple of weeks that Thor often brought him food in bed. Thor wouldn’t be expecting Loki to be up and about, so of course he wouldn’t have drawn a third chair from the table and supplied a third space with silverware, a napkin, and a cup of orange juice. How could Thor possibly predict his turbulent sleep patterns?

Loki’s grip around the doorframe tightened so hard that the wall creaked in protest.

Immediately they stopped their bickering, and both gazes landed upon him.

“Loki,” Thor said with a broad smile. “You’re awake.”

He stepped forward, and Loki took one large step back.

Thor’s expression dimmed. “Are you alright?”

Maybe it was the residue of unremembered nightmares, or maybe it was the fact that Loki felt so lonely and jealous he could almost scream. Whatever the reason, Loki let go of his self-control for one small instant—enough for the envy to spill from his tongue in a strangled hiss. “What is _she_ doing here?”

Thor blinked.

The Valkyrie’s eyebrows went high on her forehead. “Wow. Nice to see you, too.”

At that, Loki reeled back into the bedroom. He tore through the closet until he found a big enough bag, launched it on the bed, and scrambled through the drawers for his clothes. Tangled as they were with Thor’s, it took concentration to snatch what he needed, so he didn’t immediately notice Thor follow him in—not until Thor gently closed the door, shutting them inside.

Immediately, Loki stood, ramrod straight, eying the door. Simple, wooden, breakable. He checked the window, too. The glass would be easier to break than the door, but they were stories above the patio below.

“Loki,” Thor said, and Loki’s gaze snapped to his. “What are you doing?”

Loki pressed his lips together. The walls of the room closed in, smothering and infecting the air in his panic—he needed _out_. “I want my own room,” he said as he stalked for the window.

Under his tug, it sprung open, letting in a breeze of fresh air. Loki felt Thor move towards him, one arm hovering between Loki and the window, as if he were worried Loki would leap. Rolling his eyes, Loki stepped away and returned to snatching his clothes from the drawers and tossing them onto the bed.

“What’s wrong with this room?” Thor asked, strangely calm.

Loki shot him a glare. “Nothing’s wrong with it. I just want my own.” Or rather, nothing _had been_ wrong with this room. But it wouldn’t take long for Thor to start inviting his friends over daily, and letting Loki sit, in a corner somewhere, his space shrinking and shrinking until the only option left was to cede his remaining space to Thor—to become Thor’s shadow, to linger in a room that was no longer his.

Thor’s arms folded across his chest, as he watched Loki pack. “And what of your nightmares?”

“We’re not children anymore,” Loki said. “I can manage on my own.”

“And what of your other needs?” Thor said, sharp. His voice wavered on the edge of a strange note, and his hands clenched into shaking fists. “You’ve been sleeping constantly for weeks now. Will you be awake enough to cook? To replenish your body with sustenance? This is the most you’ve been awake since—since that night. That you went out, and—”

Loki launched a bundle of clothes onto the bed. “And _what_?”

Thor’s fists loosened. “And were with . . . her. Gamora.”

Since that night, Thor had pressed conversation about her incessantly. He would ask the same questions over and over— _why were you with her?_ Coincidence. _What did you talk about?_ Barely anything. _Were you —alright with her being there? _Why wouldn’t he be. And all of them veiled the real questions, the ones they didn’t speak of—questions Loki would never answer in a million years.

Loki’s lips thinned as he surveyed Thor, his brother’s hands flexing as if to reach, to hold, even as his legs remained planted in place, blocking the bedroom door. “This is why I want my own room,” Loki said, tone layered with ice. “Because you won’t give me any privacy.”

With that, Loki shoved the pile of clothes into the bag and zipped it shut. An abandoned pair of pants tumbled to the ground as he heaved the strap over his shoulder, but Loki didn’t—couldn’t—care. He strode towards the door.

Thor blocked his path, and Loki pushed past him, his hand going for the handle. Then Thor’s fist closed around his fingers, stopping him.

Loki tore himself free, only for Thor’s other hand to grab his wrist. “Let go of me,” Loki hissed.

Thor’s grip hardened. Weak from the month spent sleeping, Loki struggled himself into a corner, with his brother blocking him in, and instinct begged him to fight in earnest—a quick thought would send a knife into his hand, and—something stopped him from doing so. Thor’s hand on his wrist vibrated with tension.

Reassessing, Loki blinked.

Thor’s shoulders, too, shook, and his brother’s single blue eye brimmed with tears. When their gazes met, when Thor saw he had Loki’s attention, Thor released his wrist and clutched onto his shoulders instead, as if Loki could fly away at a mere thought. “Brother,” Thor said, his voice tight. “I’ll give you whatever privacy you want. I’ll sleep on the couch if that helps you. You don’t have to go.”

Loki swallowed through his clogged throat. “Thor,” he said, and his own eyes started to burn, “I can’t stay here forever.”

“Just a little longer then. You’re—you’re not well. You need someone looking after you.”

A hot wave of shame flushed Loki’s face, and he almost lashed out—he was perfectly fine, he could take care of himself, he was capable—but. He knew. He knew he wasn’t. He knew Thor was right.

Thor sighed. “Can’t you give this to me? Just for a little while?”

In the same moment, Thor shifted one of his hands to cup Loki’s neck—an old familiar gesture as well as a new, horrific one—and Loki flinched, proving Thor’s point. Thor’s hand quickly withdrew, but the panic remained. Phantom marks, absent of bruises, marred his throat from where Thanos had tried to kill him. Almost did.

Loki forced himself to breathe in and out at the same rate as his brother’s chest rose and fell. A mess. He was a mess. And as the fight seeped out of him, Loki found himself wanting to lie down. He was so tired.

With a shrug, the bag slipped from his shoulder and onto the floor. “Alright,” he said to Thor.

Even though his panic spiked at the close contact, his breathing ragged, he didn’t fight when Thor drew him into a hug.

…

After breakfast, in which he and the Valkyrie exchanged sour pleasantries, Loki pretended to fall back asleep. Still, he left the door open (Thor blessedly left it be), and listened to them speak in low voices.

“I don’t know what to do,” Thor was whispering to her. “He’s not getting any better.”

The Valkyrie hummed. “He still sleeps a lot?”

“Yes,” Thor said. “All through the day and night. If I wasn’t making him, then I’m not sure he’d eat either.” A sigh. The scrape of a chair across the tiled floor and the clink of dishes. “He told me he wanted his own room just now. He tried to leave. Even though he can’t take care of himself. I managed to convince him otherwise, but . . .”

A second chair scraped across the floor, and the Valkyrie’s footsteps across the kitchen.  “Wait, he wants his own room? Isn’t that progress right there?”

One of them turned on the faucet, and the sound muffled their voices. Loki couldn’t distinguish words. A few seconds later, the faucet came off, the dishwasher opened with a loud thud, and the Valkyrie was speaking. “—like you might be part of the problem.”

“What?” Thor said. Loud enough for Loki to wince on her behalf.

“I’m just saying,” the Valkyrie said, barely distinguishable over the sound of porcelain clattering against porcelain. “He goes for some independence, some privacy, and you shoot him down. The moment he starts to show some actual progress, he’s told it’s not enough. How will that make him want to get better?”

In another time, another place, Loki might have felt a surge of gratitude at the Valkyrie’s astute observation of Thor’s treatment of him. But in this time, in this place, her words only numbed him further. Whether he wanted to or not, he would never get better. It felt so pointless to try.

After a long gap in conversation, while they loaded the dishwasher and turned it on, there was the sound of more scuffling and a pair of chairs creaking. Thor finally spoke. “You’re right,” he said, so soft that Loki strained to listen. “It’s just—I’m afraid. I’m afraid to lose him again.”

Loki stilled.

“If he stays with me, then I know he’s here,” Thor said. “I can make sure he’s eating properly. I can be there for his nightmares. I can ensure he’s protected. But if he leaves—” He took an audible breath. “That night he went out onto the balcony, I thought for sure that he’d—that he was gone. Dead. I can't deal with it. If he leaves, I will panic every second he’s out of my sight.”

Heart skipping, Loki leaned over on the bed to peer through the doorway. Thor’s elbows pressed against the table, and his head hung in his hands. The Valkyrie, sitting across from him, had reached over to squeeze his shoulder.

A vibrant guilt washed through Loki (just by existing, he was causing his brother pain) as well as a burning rush of anger (what right had Thor to cage him).

“Listen,” the Valkyrie said. “After everything we’ve been through, your worry is understandable. I get it. But you’re going to have to let him be his own person eventually. Might as well start working up to it now.”

“I know,” Thor breathed. “I know. Just not yet. A few more days, at least.”

Loki waited, but they didn’t speak more on the subject. Instead, they shifted onto other topics, such as King T’Challa’s decision to grant temporary asylum for the remaining Asgardian refugees and the discussion of the rest of the Avengers and their political battle to dissolve the Sokovia Accords. Boring and irrelevant gossip to Loki’s ears.

He buried himself in the blankets, stared at the ceiling, and considered Thor’s worries.

Thor was right that Loki was ill. It was no secret. It had never been any kind of secret, since the moment he’d been born on that cold, desolate wasteland and abandoned to die.

And yet—that night on the balcony . . . Loki wondered if, in an effort to reassure his brother, he had ceded his freedom by so willingly returning inside. He remembered Thor’s demanding questions and his forceful hug, and it unsettled him.

Was he allowed to leave?

As sleep weighed on his eyelids, Loki decided to test it later, when the inevitable nightmares would force him awake.

…

Creeping into the living room, Loki saw that Thor had moved the couch closer to the door. His brother slept beneath a blanket or two with snores that rumbled up and down in his chest. His head rested on a pillow inches away from the doorknob.

Uneasy, Loki swallowed.

It was probably nothing. The new location was a better spot for the couch anyway, aligned against the wide window behind it and centered around every other piece of furniture in the room. Besides, Thor didn’t wake to his gasping and choking anymore. He doubted Thor would wake to the door opening either. Especially not if Loki was quiet.

Breathing through his nose, Loki padded over and slipped into a pair of comfortable shoes. He unlatched the two locks, turned the doorknob, and nudged open the door.

Worried the draft of air would wake Thor from his sleep, Loki gave himself just enough room to slip through and let himself out, but with his eyes on his brother, he didn’t see the bag of recycling propped against the outside wall in time. One step forward, and he tripped. The bag tipped over, and cans rattled against each other. Loud.

In an instant, Thor was awake and in the doorway and staring at Loki.

Standing tall, Loki stared back at him.

“Where are you going?” Thor asked, his voice gentle. “Are you alright?”

Loki eyed Thor’s hands, but they were loose at his sides. Not angry. His eyes returned to Thor’s face. “I’m going on a walk,” he said.

Thor nodded. “Then I’ll come with you.”

“No,” Loki said, even as his stomach twisted with nerves. “I want to be alone.”

At last, a frown settled over Thor’s face, and his hands started to flex. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said, still gentle. “You’ve been very tired. You should have someone with you.”

Loki pressed his lips together. “I don’t want someone with me,” he said as clear and cold as he dared. “Go back to sleep, Thor. I’ll be back in an hour.” With that, he stepped over the bag of recycling and started down the hallway. He never expected to get far. His eyes were averted, but every other sense waited for Thor to follow him.

He did not expect for Thor to lurch forward and grab Loki’s arm.

The moment Thor held him in place, his thoughts launched into a panic. This _was_ a cage.

And Loki’s heart thumped at the realization that he couldn’t escape it. Maybe the Valkyrie had fought for him earlier, but the truth was that she allowed this. Anyone would. After everything that had happened, Thor’s reaction was sympathetic, and Loki had not helped his case by neglecting his health for weeks in lieu of sleep. He was weak and tired and dizzy, and Thor was strong and he could use Loki’s weakness as a plausible excuse.

Pulse racing, Loki struggled to force himself to breathe. His lungs throbbed, and his throat wheezed, and Thor’s hand around his arm morphed into Thanos’s hand around his throat, and he was choking, writhing, dying— “Let go of me,” Loki gasped.

Thor didn’t.

The panic pulsed white noise in his ears. The edges of his vision blurred. “Let—go—”

“Loki, what’s wrong?” Thor moved to grip both of his arms.

The second hand broke Loki’s little remaining control. His legs buckled. His vision darkened. In an instinctive panic, he summoned a blade into his palm and shoved it into Thor’s abdomen. With a sharp grunt, Thor released him, and Loki stumbled away, barely catching himself with two hands against the wall. He stared at the smooth texture, lines of color swirling in indecipherable patterns down to the floor. The metal was cool and solid against his palms.

It calmed him long enough to draw in a needed breath.

“What the hell, Loki?” Thor snarled behind him.

Loki closed his eyes and sighed, ragged and tired. Now that the panic was passing, now that Thor wasn’t grabbing him, he felt rather foolish. Thor wasn’t a jailor; he was just worried, Loki knew. But how could Loki possibly explain himself? That Thor hadn’t let him go? That he was so fragile and broken to lash out at one minor act of carelessness? He was trying _so hard_ to be better than that.

With great effort, Loki turned and looked at Thor. The short blade still stuck out of Thor’s stomach, and both his hands were clenched around the handle. It wasn’t a threatening wound, but Loki suspected it was a painful one.

Humiliation and guilt flushed red on his face. Still, Loki was bitter enough to glare. “I’m going on a walk,” he said. “Alone. For five minutes. Go back inside, or I swear on Yggdrassil that I _will_ rip out that blade and stab you to death with it.”

Raging, Thor opened his mouth to argue.

For some reason, he didn’t.

An eternity passed.

Then, Loki caught a flash of heartbreak break through the anger in his brother’s face, and Thor lowered his head and went for the door.

When the door clicked shut, all the fight poured out of Loki in short, sharp breaths, and he lowered himself onto the cobblestone floor. Cross-legged, back to the wall, Loki stared ahead. He counted the seconds in his head. Five minutes was his vow, and he wouldn’t step inside a second sooner, no matter how lonely or tired or sick he felt.

The wind whistled through the tall,wide arches in the stone wall, carrying the scent of rain-trodden earth on its heels. Loki breathed it in, letting it and the counting settle his thoughts and still his racing heart.

The last day he’d been this conscious, he’d encountered Gamora on the balcony, and strangely he ached to speak with her now. Maybe he distrusted her and maybe her presence awoke the trauma branded in his veins, but—she understood things in a way that Thor could not. She had a pair of functioning ears that she actually _used_. She didn’t ask questions about what had happened years ago with Thanos; she already knew.

Most importantly, she didn’t care about him. She didn’t worry. She didn’t treat him like glass.

And Thor, loving, kind, empathetic Thor, disliked her. He didn’t say it in so many words, but his tone shifted whenever her name arose, his face hardened at any mention, and Loki knew why. Without answers to his questions, Thor had no choice but to make assumptions about the gap in Loki’s whereabouts six years ago. Even unspoken, Thor had guessed some things. He had Gamora and Loki, old acquaintances, and he had connected the dots through the mutual thread of Thanos.

As much as Loki would like to blame his brother’s ignorance and stupidity, he had only himself to fault. How could Thor know if Loki didn’t tell him? How could Thor know _anything_ if Loki didn’t tell him?

As the five minutes passed, Loki decided what to do.

He pushed himself to his feet and went inside.

Shirtless, Thor was sitting amongst a tangle of blankets on the couch. The heel of one hand dug into his single eye, thumb rubbing at his temple, elbow on his knee. His other hand held a towel to the wound on his abdomen, already stained with a fair amount of blood. It wasn’t bandaged. Thor didn’t look up as he came in.

Loki sighed and went to search for the first-aid kit. It proved difficult to find—sitting under a pile of towels in the bathroom—but when Loki brought it back into the living room, Thor finally met his gaze.

“Sorry for hurting you,” Loki said, looking away.

Thor didn’t answer.

Sitting beside his brother, Loki set the kit on the coffee table and nudged the towel out of the way. Thor moved his hand willingly, allowing Loki to inspect the wound himself. It was deep, but not wide or jagged enough for worry. Good to know that even panicked, Loki could still make a clean, refined cut if he wanted.

Returning the towel to its position, Loki grabbed a salve and inspected the label for a long moment.

“I’m sorry for grabbing you,” Thor said in the silence.

Startled, Loki looked at him. “Pardon?”

“You looked like you were going to fall over,” Thor said without meeting Loki’s eyes. “I didn’t realize it was because I was holding you. I’m sorry.”

Privately, Loki thought he’d been quite clear in asking Thor to let him go, but the fact that he _had_ been falling over was too embarrassing to revisit. Besides, if Thor was apologizing, then he was listening. Loki would need to keep it that way if he wanted to say what he needed to say.

He reached for a swab of cotton and dabbed it in the salve. “Thor, I need to tell you something, and I need you to take it seriously.”

“Alright.” Thor watched him.

Loki dabbed the salve along the wound. To his credit, Thor sucked in only one sharp breath before relaxing his shoulders. “Two things,” Loki said, as his hands started to shake. “First—if I say something, then I expect you to listen. If I tell you to leave me alone, then you need to leave me alone. If I—If I tell you to let go of me, then—” The memory trembled through his hands. He forced them to still, as he reached for a bandage. Cleared his throat. “These aren’t requests. They’re demands.”

After a long moment, Thor nodded his understanding. “Alright,” he said again. “Alright, that’s fine. I’ll do better.”

Tension eased out of Loki’s shoulders, and it left him hollow and strangely more shaky than before. Channeling his focus into his hands, Loki pressed a clean cotton swab to Thor’s ribs and began to wind the stretchy bandage around his waist.

“What’s the second?” Thor asked after Loki had looped it a couple times.

Throat dry, Loki forced himself to swallow. This was harder. Stalling for time, he waited until the bandage was secure around Thor’s stomach and until he could focus on returning all the items into the first-aid kit. Then, he took a deep breath. “It’s about Thanos. What happened six years ago. After I—fell.”

Beside him, Thor went still.

“You have a lot of questions,” Loki said.

“I do,” Thor said, “but you don’t have to—”

Loki held up a hand. “It’s not helping either of us to avoid it. But—it’s difficult, Thor. I need you to be patient.”

He waited, but Thor had gone utterly silent, as if he were holding his breath.

Nervous, Loki tucked the last of the supplies into the first-aid kit. “You can ask me one question, once a day,” he said. “No more than that.” He snapped the kit shut and gauged his brother’s expression.

Thor was staring at him with one squinted, confused eye. It took several moments for him to speak. “So you’re not leaving?”

Loki blinked. “What? No.”

A hesitant relief passed through Thor’s face, but then his head ducked and his hands tangled together in his lap. “I thought,” Thor said, “that you might prefer your own rooms. After how I reacted tonight.”

Loki sighed and leaned back on the sofa. In the five minutes outside, he had considered it, but . . . “No. You were right this morning. I can’t—shouldn’t—live alone right now.” He shivered at the honesty seeping through the cracks in his wall, as it started to become too much, too vulnerable, too _weak_. He dug his nails into his palms. “And you don’t have to sleep out here. I was just —angry.”

Thor frowned. “You’re sure?”

Loki hummed in agreement.

Slowly, his brother wrapped an arm around Loki’s shoulders, and, when Loki didn’t protest, Thor drew his head upon his shoulder. Loki closed his eyes and breathed in the ozone scent, let his cheek invite the warmth of Thor’s bare skin. “So?” he asked. Your question for the day?”

The muscles of Thor’s shoulder tensed. When he spoke, it didn’t follow the inflection of a question at all. It sounded rehearsed. “Did he torture you. Thanos.”

Loki let out a breath. “Yes.”

Even with the one word, he vibrated with tension, his stomach ached, and his chest felt hollow—but Thor didn’t push for a second question or a third or a fourth. He simply squeezed Loki’s shoulder and pulled him closer, and Loki thought that maybe with enough days, he could bleed out all of the memories in words.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes being king sucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Lmao, I tried so hard not to be sassy in the summary, but once I typed that, I lost the ability to summarize this chapter any other way.~~
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway there may suddenly be a tiny bit of plot. Surprise.
> 
> Also... I've been taking a break from writing for like a month, and consequently, I can't write for shit right now lol. And this is a nice sandbox where I've allowed myself to write whatever tf I want lol, so I decided to use it to get back in the swing of things, and.. damn guys, I'm sorry. This is gonna disappoint. But -shrug- I had to start somewhere.

It was days later when their momentary relief ended.

Awake for once, Loki was curled barefoot on the bed and reading a book of Midgardian poetry--something fascinatingly beautiful considering the brief amount of time allotted for a mortal to hone their skill. His brother, on the other hand, had been on the phone for almost the entire last two days, discussing the state of the Asgardian refugees and other topics of a political nature that Loki had promptly tuned out. 

It was around evening when Thor finally ended the call and started rummaging through the clothes in their bedroom.

Curious, Loki looked at him and caught the way Thor’s eye quickly darted away.

Loki reviewed their most recent interactions, but everything seemed normal; in fact, things had been going so much better lately, ever since they’d started the new system of communication. Thor had shifted from hovering towards thinking through the next most important question, and Loki had found relief in the fact that he only had to talk about Thanos once per day.

“Is everything alright with the Asgardians?” Loki asked, because if it wasn’t about him, then surely it was about  _ something _ .

“Yes, of course,” Thor said, distracted. His focus had narrowed on folding a single pair of pants twice in a row.

Frowning, Loki set the book aside and propped himself up. “How are the negotiations coming along? Are we being granted permanent residence here?”

“Not exactly,” Thor said while emptying a nearby bag of its contents. 

“So they're going poorly, I assume,” Loki said.

“No, they’re fine, it’s just . . .” Thor trailed off as he set the bag on the bed and reached for the folded clothes he’d left on the dresser. “Wakanda has been accommodating of our people for now, but we don’t have much to offer them in the long run.”

Loki eyed the bag, even as a sense of unease prickled the hairs along the back of his neck. “Have you offered to trade our knowledge? Our technology, for example.”

“Yes,” Thor agreed, “but the kingdom of Wakanda is a special case. We’re finding that their technology might have even rivaled ours.”

“I see,” Loki said.

Before Thanos, he might have been curious about the mortals’ advancements and the political maneuvering in general, but now he could only think about the stack of folded clothes Thor was setting next to the bag and about the vague alarm bells ringing in the back of his mind that something was  _ wrong _ , something was about to  _ change _ , and not for the better. He focused on evening his breath and on calming his tensing muscles. 

Meanwhile, Thor was gathering other essential items into his arms, and he  _ still  _ wasn’t meeting Loki’s gaze.

“So what is your new strategy?” Loki asked. “Who were you talking to?” He waved a hand towards the device tucked in Thor’s pocket.

Thor paused in his footsteps. His one eye met Loki’s, as if for the first time, and his jaw clenched in a tell-tale sign of nervousness. 

“What?” Loki breathed.

Thor stuffed the armful of items into the bag. “Heimdall suggested that we look elsewhere for a permanent settlement,” he explained. “Somewhere that could benefit from Asgardian knowledge and not cause unrewarded strain to the people’s generosity.”

Slowly, Loki nodded. “So why are you acting strange?”

Thor glanced at him again. Plain nervousness infested his expression, from his furrowed frown, to his fleeting eye contact, and to the way his neck bobbed with a too dry swallow. “If we’re going to settle elsewhere, then as King, I’ll have to be negotiating with the people in power.”

“Yes,” Loki said, watching him. “So?”

“So,” Thor said, “that means I have to leave for a few days.”

Loki stared at his brother in unsuppressed shock. The words reverberated through the walls of his head, both heard and unheard, as he struggled to process them. Time itself seemed to stop. His heart skipped beating and his lungs emptied. He felt barren. Hollow. 

“You’re what?” he breathed.

“I’m leaving for a few days,” Thor repeated cautiously. “I think it will be good for both of us.”

Loki couldn’t deny the statement a second time. 

His fingers curled into the pillow beneath him, and he stared with new terror at the bag on the bed in front of him. The same bag Loki had used just two days ago in a mad attempt to have his own room--something he found acutely ironic now. Thor wasn’t looking at him as he placed the stack of folded clothes inside.

“It’s just for a few days,” Thor said, his voice muted and soft. “I’ve stored leftovers in the fridge, and Banner gave a list of instructions on how to heat them in the microwave. I left it on the counter.” He paused in his packing and gestured to the bed stand where Loki’s own phone sat. “I’ve also,” he went on, “put an alarm on there for all the times you should be eating. A number is on the home screen that you can call any time you wish to speak to me.”

Loki’s pulse rung in his ears. A weight like stone smothered his chest, holding him in place. His back was pressed to the bed frame, his legs were crossed on the bed, and his arms were locked over his chest. He couldn’t move. The air felt like solid rock, pressing in on him, and a part of him, a dim healthy part of him, raged-- _ he’s treating you like a child, seeing after your basic needs as if you’re a helpless, crying babe _ .

The childish part of him wanted to scream.  _ He’s leaving you. He’s finally grown sick of you. He’ll never come back. _

And a third--a terrified and instinctual part of him--wove tendrils of adrenaline into his veins. It reeked of Thanos and the Chitauri and death and even the Grandmaster, and it drummed a single word into his head-- _ alone, alone, alone _ . 

Because being alone meant danger.

Thor glanced at him, as if waiting for a response, and Loki couldn’t. His throat was dry, his tongue was a dead weight in his mouth, and he felt tremors in his body, waiting for him to speak, waiting to spill into his voice and fill him with panic.

“Hey,” Thor said and reached to cup Loki’s cheek. It was a patronizing touch, but Loki tolerated it because it replaced Thor holding his neck. “Don’t worry. You’ll probably sleep through the whole thing.”

His heart was racing so hard that Loki couldn’t even fathom of sleep. He jerked out of Thor’s gasp. The movement released him from the statue-like stillness, and Loki pushed to his feet and took short, unsteady steps across the floor without knowing his destination. Only that he wanted Thor to _stop looking_ at him, to _stop_ _talking_ to him.

In the end, he found himself in the bathroom, shutting and locking the door.

For a moment, there was nothing.

Then Thor tried the handle. The doorknob rattled. The wood creaked as Thor rested his weight. His brother said something, but Loki couldn’t hear it, because he realized too late that trapping himself in here--no windows, dim light, locked door--was a mistake.

He drowned in white static.

…

The grey fog around his senses slowly, slowly rescinded.

Loki blinked, and color soaked into the world, oranges and muted browns and cream whites. He blinked again and found his back resting on something soft and warm, something that inflated and deflated like a balloon, something that looped secure around his waist and smoothed back strands of hair from his forehead. 

He blinked again and heard a distant female voice. “ _ \--well, check his pulse then. _ ” It was faint. Warped. As if the source of the voice was speaking through glass.

The something around his waist shifted to press into the veins of his wrist, but it didn’t grab him or hurt him, so Loki let it be.

“It’s a little fast.” This was a new voice, clear and warm at Loki’s ear.

“ _ And he still isn’t responding? _ ” 

“No.”

Loki closed his eyes and leaned towards the sound. Maybe it was an illusion, but it was a good illusion, a convincing illusion, and he would relish in the comfort while he could.

“Oh, wait,” the voice said, “he just moved, hold on.” A pause, and the something--a person, it was a person--beneath him shifted Loki in his arms. The brief movement unearthed the tense pain in his body, particularly the muscles in his neck. Weak, Loki’s head lulled onto the man’s shoulder. “Loki?” the voice asked. “Can you hear me?”

Loki blinked his eyes open. This time, his vision cleared further, and he recognized his brother. Bright light behind Thor’s head blared in his eyes, and pain stabbed through his skull. Loki slid his eyes closed against the overload of his senses. “Mmmm,” he groaned in response.

“ _ Was that him? _ ” the warped voice asked.

“Yes, I think he’s coming out of it.”

“ _ Okay. You still want me to come over? I’m halfway there. _ ”

Thor let out a sigh. “No. No, it’s fine.” A pause. “Actually while you’re out, can you tell everyone who needs to know that I’m postponing the settlement plans again? I can’t see this resolving by tonight.”

“ _ Yeah _ ,” the voice said. “ _ Probably better that I do it. You sound way too pleased about the delay. _ ”

“Stop,” Thor said, though he sounded lighter than before. In a serious voice, he added, “Thank you, Val. Keep me updated.”

“ _ Will do. _ ”

There was a noise, a click maybe, muffled and quiet. Then Thor inhaled and exhaled a breath that rose and fell in his chest. The hand--Thor’s hand--resumed petting Loki’s hair, tucking it behind his ear with a mother’s gentility. “Loki, are you there? Are you listening?”

Tension rolled in waves through Loki’s skull, but he needed to know he was safe. He needed to see where he was. He opened his eyes. Tiles. Dull golden tiles, porcelain and smooth, and cool where the bare skin of his heels and palms pressed into them. Stuffy humid air. A black device (a phone, his mind supplied) sitting next to a white, two-foot-tall wall of porcelain (a bathtub). Bathroom. Memories jolted into him. He’d been locked here, trapped, and—

His eyes flew to the door, and it was open. Sunlight spilled across the floor, shimmery and white. Loki breathed in a breath to calm himself. There was a hole in the door, where the doorknob should have been, and as he craned his neck to see, Loki found the missing doorknob resting broken on the floor.

The muscles in his neck screeched with protest, so he returned his head to Thor’s shoulder. His throat felt raw, like sandpaper.

“Loki?” Thor said, nudging his upper arm with the back of his hand.

Too much. He clenched his eyes shut. “‘M listening,” he croaked.

Thor’s chest deflated with a huge release of air. His grip around Loki’s abdomen squeezed for one brief moment, and Loki found that if he focused on that, on the warmth radiating from Thor, then the rest of it--the sounds, the smells, the aching in his body, the colors dancing on his eyelids--didn’t feel so  _ loud _ .

As the seconds ticked forward, Thor didn’t speak. Loki appreciated the silence that let him breathe normally, shuffling oxygen through his numbed head, reawakening his senses and instincts. 

The process sparked thought of the Void, a memory that loomed like a threat in the back of his mind. The long hours he’d spent in the Chitauri’s hands re-training himself to feel, smell, see, and hear. Everything had been so bright and overwhelming at first and then so horrifically numb. He’d never recovered a complete sense of taste.

Even now, the jagged, parched walls of his throat tasted stale and rotten. He was so thirsty. “What happened?” he asked.

Thor shifted him in his lap. “Not sure,” he said after a while. 

It was a lie. Loki could hear it in his brother’s voice. He shivered. Cleared his throat. Spent a few coughs. “No,” he said as steady as he could. “Tell me what happened. Everything. Every detail.”

Thor’s arm squeezed him again, and his free hand wrapped around Loki’s chest, pressing him close. 

It would be a hit to his pride, Loki knew, but he wanted-- _ needed _ \--to fill the blanks in his memory.

“You started screaming. It was . . . bad.” Thor breathed deeply and went on in a whisper. “I broke the handle to get in and you were--on the floor. Clawing yourself. You didn’t recognize me, and--I’m sorry, I held you down, I was afraid you would hurt yourself.” He exhaled. “Then you just . . . went blank. You wouldn’t answer my questions, you wouldn’t respond at all.”

His eyes still closed, Loki swallowed. His saliva felt rough and thick in his throat. “How long?”

Thor’s shoulder dipped in a shrug. “Twenty minutes maybe. Ten fighting me. Ten unresponsive.”

“Is that when you called her? Valkyrie?”

“Yes,” Thor said. A pause. “I am sorry for involving her. I didn’t know what to do.”

Loki shifted his shoulders in a half-shrug. 

It hadn’t been the worst of his spells of panic. For the worst, he’d been on his own and far removed from Thor’s, or anyone’s presence. Once, an entire night had been sucked from his memory, and he’d woken with scratch marks all over his arms and face, dried blood under his nails, and clumps of torn hair tangled between his fingers. He couldn’t even remember what had set it off.

In comparison, this was nothing. Except, of course, that both Thor (and the Valkyrie) had witnessed it. 

“Is this,” Thor said softly, “because of me leaving?”

Loki sighed. It certainly hadn’t helped, but it hadn’t been the tipping point. “Not really.”

“Then is it because the door was closed?”

Surprised, Loki blinked his eyes open. Thor had only asked a couple questions since Loki started answering; for Thor to infer so much from his behavior already was unlike him.

In an effort to avoid Thor’s gaze, he stared at the wall. “Is that your question for the day?”

“Of course not,” Thor said with a frown. “I wouldn’t expect you to answer one of those while you’re . . .”

_ While I’m what _ , Loki almost snapped. He swallowed the words and forced himself to breathe. “I do prefer doors to be open whenever possible,” he said.

Thor nodded. 

“Thor, could you get me a cup of water?” Loki asked.

“Of course.” Thor squeezed him one last time before untangling their limbs and pushing himself to his feet. He crossed the length of the bathroom in soft, careful strides, and at the doorway his hand came up to swing the door shut behind him, by habit.

Loki braced himself for the inevitable moment where he’d have to get up to open it.

It never came. This time, Thor caught himself.

He stopped the door in the palm of his hand and left a six-inch opening. Enough to give Loki privacy but not enough to steal the air from Loki’s lungs. His brother left him like that, without a single word, without drawing attention to it at all, and Loki felt absurd relief in the fact that his words were finally,  _ finally  _ being heard.

When the kitchen cabinets creaked open from the other room, Loki reached for Thor’s phone, discarded on the floor.

He went straight for the text messages sent to the Valkyrie and scrolled as far back as he could go.

There were plans to arrange a settlement for Asgard in Norway, information about how the refugees faired, and the occasional governing questions and commands. And, Loki noted with unease, there were endless conversations about him. About how much he slept, how much he ate, and how worried Thor was--and how Thor felt that he could never let Loki out of his sight.

Valkyrie’s advice was almost always the same-- _ give him some space _ .

As if it were so simple.

Thor’s footsteps carried down the hall, so Loki closed out of the messages and set the phone back on the tiled floor.

“Here,” Thor said, as he re-appeared around the corner. “Are you alright?”

“Mhmm.” Loki forced his expression to smooth and took the offered cup. As a sip of the icy water rushed down his throat, he closed his eyes, relishing in the release of tension. His breathing followed suit, smooth and even but somehow still wrong, and Loki touched his neck, as if he could detect the remnants of bruises that were no longer there.

When he finished swallowing, Thor was still standing there, staring at him in a muted kind of fear.

Loki sighed. “I’m fine, Thor.” 

Thor didn’t look convinced.

And now that the shock had passed, now that his thoughts were winding down, Loki could sense Thor’s terror. Thor had never experienced something like this, he’d never  _ seen  _ something like this, so of course he would be afraid. Of course he’d assume it couldn’t be resolved overnight. Of course he’d put his entire life on hold. 

He wouldn’t know that Loki could think rationally about it now--about the settlement plans and about the fact that Thor couldn’t stay here watching over him forever. Thor was a King now, and kingship came with duties. Thor’s terror--his overbearing concern, his hovering, his neglect of all things other than Loki--it had to stop.

Even drained and exhausted and numb, Loki knew what he had had to do.

...

A few minutes later, Loki plodded into the kitchen. He noted the way Thor hovered at his back, an inch from his every step, and how Thor’s hands flexed at his waist, as if prepared to catch him if he fell. Ignoring this, Loki sat at the table (without falling or stumbling or even swaying) and glanced around the room. Indeed, there were a list of instructions left by the microwave and recently used kitchenware left on the stove.

He looked at Thor, whose face was lined with wrinkles and ashen in color. There were circles under his one eye.

Not for the first time, Loki wondered if it was easier for Thor that he slept most of the time.

“Thor,” Loki said softly. 

“Hmm?”

“Will you sit down?”

Thor sat.

Loki laced his fingers together on the table and stared at them in thought. His mind ran tired and slow, but overall today had been a day of lucidity, a day of clarity, and he was going to take the only chance he had to  _ fix  _ this mess he’d made. “So,” Loki started carefully, “the plans for Asgard’s settlement. When you go, where will you be staying?”

“What?” Thor blinked at him. “No, that’s not--I won’t be going anymore. Not for a while. Not until you’re doing better.”

Loki resisted the urge to argue. Not yet. He took a deep breath. “I heard,” he said, as calmly as he could. “Will you tell me about it anyway?”

Thor hesitated, and Loki did his very best to look calm and composed (and awake). 

“We’re trying for Norway,” Thor said at last. “The Prime Minister has invited us to suggest terms for an agreement and perhaps even start negotiations if all goes well. I know it’s not the only option, and King T’Challa has offered to continue negotiations out of generosity, but--Norway specifically. . . It was . . .” He trailed off.

“It was the All-Father’s dying wish,” Loki finished for him. “I know.”

Thor’s eye skated away, and his arms folded across his chest. 

“And what about lodging arrangements?” Loki asked, before the melancholy in Thor’s expression could radiate through the entire room. “Where will you be sleeping? How will you be fed?” 

Thor looked at him. “It would be similar to how we hosted foreign delegates on Asgard. The country of Norway promised to provide for me and whatever council I bring during our stay.” A pause, and he ran a hand through his too-short hair. “It would have been a brief visit. Mostly preliminary discussion--and, well, you know how the usual politics go.”

And in this moment of clarity, Loki could tell what his brother was thinking, and he would be lying if he wasn’t thinking it, too--himself at Thor’s side, regal and clever and whispering advice into Thor’s ear because he’d always been better at slicing through the false pleasantries of politicians and unearthing their truer motives underneath.

The future they’d envisioned as children had finally arrived, and oddly Loki ached for it. More than he ever had before. 

But even wanting it, he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. Because as clear as his thoughts were now, he knew this moment of clarity would be fleeting and brief, and soon he’d be the walking corpse that Thanos had left behind. Just minutes ago, he’d been clawing himself on the bathroom floor. Just hours ago, he’d been woken from a sleep that had lasted an entire day.

He was damaged, unable to heal, and it was fitting--fated even--that when everything else was right, it was Loki, who was irreparable and wrong.

“I don’t think the Prime Minister of Norway would appreciate you postponing your plans,” Loki said softly.

Shrugging, Thor gave him a tired smile. “It doesn't matter. I've already sent word.”

“Is it too late to change your mind?”

“Why would I . . .” Thor’s brow furrowed in a frown. “Loki, you don’t need to worry. I'm not going to change my mind, and I'm not going to leave you alone. You’re more important than all of this.”

Loki hated the way his heart rejoiced to hear it. He hated that he wanted to give in and let this be. With all of his strength, he dug his nails into his palms and steeled himself. “I’m not,” he said quietly.

Thor flinched.

“You know I’m not,” Loki said again.

On the table, Thor’s hands clenched into fists, and his face screwed into tight, agonized lines. He couldn’t meet Loki’s gaze as he said in an anguished, breathy voice, “You are to me.”

Smiling, Loki slipped his hand across the table and cupped Thor’s wrist. “You’re a King now, Thor. You aren’t allowed to be selfish.” 

Thor tore his hand out of Loki’s grip.

“You’re speaking of our home,” Loki went on. “Of our people. Of Asgard’s future. Of—” he inhaled “—of our father’s last wish. I know you’ve been delaying the settlement plans for too long now. I heard Valkyrie say it over the phone. If you delay these plans forever, then you might be throwing your options away—”

“It’s not forever,” Thor gasped. “It’s just until you’re better. When maybe, you can join--”

Loki’s hands shook. “I’ll never be better, Thor.”

Thor went silent. 

Overwhelmed, Loki twisted away on his seat and tucked his hands into his lap. His eyes fixed on the floor, vision blurring, but these were the words that needed to be said, the words that plagued him every hour of the day and night. “You haven’t asked me everything yet. Not even close,” he breathed. “But you must know enough by now. This isn’t something that can be fixed. Just because he’s--he’s dead doesn’t mean that I--that everything else didn’t happen.”

Thor was inching to his feet, leaning around the table. “I know that. Loki, I know, but—”

“If I had died,” Loki said, “then you’d have already found a place for Asgard to settle. You’d have already completed the negotiations. It’d be done. And maybe that’s how it should have been.”

Thor choked on a breath. “Loki—”

“You know it’s true,” Loki said to the floor, even as his entire body trembled. “Because I survived, you spend half of your time looking after me. You’re neglecting things you shouldn’t be neglecting, and you’re worrying over things you don’t need to worry about. I may be alive, but you’re turning me into a burden, and--and that’s so much worse for me.”

Thor’s hands locked around his shoulders. “Loki, please, look at me.”

Loki sealed his lips shut and looked at his brother.

Fresh tear trails were running down Thor’s cheek. The muscles in his jaw shook with tension. “You’re  _ not _ a burden, and I swear to you, it won’t always be like this. You  _ will  _ get better.”

Loki’s heart hammered. “Maybe,” he said. “But not while I’m dragging you down.”

Thor’s grip on his shoulders tightened, but Loki could see his resolve cracking. Thor knew he was right. He was going to come to his senses, and he was going to leave--as he should. 

“You said it yourself,” Loki said to encourage him. “It’s only a couple of days. I’ve been on my own for worse and for much longer.”

Thor shot him a look. “That’s not comforting.”

With a sigh, Loki looked away. Everything had begun to catch up with him--the twenty minutes of panic, the thought of Thor leaving him, the fear that Thor would  _ never  _ leave him. The weight of the universe itself, wide and open and suffocating in its possibilities. He was so tired of watching Thor wither in his place. He was so tired of everything.

Drawing on the rest of his strength, Loki curled his fingers around Thor’s wrists and eased himself free. “I’m going to sleep now,” he said. “Please don’t be here in the morning.”

“Loki, wait—” 

Thor grabbed him by the arm, but he immediately let go when Loki tensed. He was learning. Loki tried not to let the gratefulness break his own resolve. 

“Do I still get a question for today?” Thor asked. His eye was wide and shining in the dim light.

Slowly Loki turned to him and nodded.

“Are you—” Thor started, then stopped. “Is it bad enough that . . .” Again, he trailed off, and Loki was about to urge him to just  _ say it  _ when Thor heaved a huge and decisive breath. “Do you--do you wish you were dead?”

A cloud of fog rolled down Loki’s spine. How could he explain to Thor that it wasn’t as simple as a yes or a no or even an uncertainty? It was all possible answers and none of them, all at once. It was wanting to be alive but not wanting to live; it was wanting to die but not wanting to be dead. And none of it mattered, because it wasn’t a real question. This question, after all, had only one right answer, and Loki wasn’t ready to give it.

“If you leave tomorrow,” Loki said instead, “I promise I’ll be alive when you come back.”

Face crumpling, Thor lurched forward to wrap him in a hug, and Loki memorized every breath that rattled through Thor’s chest and every press of warm contact between them. He memorized how it felt to not be alone, because he would need it tomorrow when Thor was gone.

…

Later on in the night, Loki could hear Thor’s muted voice as he spoke in the other room on the phone.

He couldn’t make out the words, but he knew what it meant. His fingers dug into his pillow, his eyes squeezed shut, and his entire body went rigid. It took all of his strength to not surge to his feet and beg Thor not to go through with it, beg Thor to stay, just for one more day. 

When Thor came into their room, Loki pretended to be asleep because he didn’t have the strength to say goodbye.

 

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to follow me on [tumblr](http://loxxxlay.tumblr.com) :) <3  
> (especially if you're looking for more fix-it, because apparently that is my life now)


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